


Ain't Love a Bitch

by Raccoonheck



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Dubious Consent, I need help, I'm not sure it should be labeled porn with plot, M/M, Since the only smut might be like at the beginning and end maybe, Worst plot holes ever, sorta?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-24 19:46:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10748568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raccoonheck/pseuds/Raccoonheck
Summary: Nobody knows what the point of their brief capture was, but it's causing a lot more problems than previous attempts at subduing them.





	1. That hole in the box is a hole in the plot

**Author's Note:**

> This was drawn really heavily from an rp with my mate. It's really dialogue-heavy here, but I hope to improve on that and plenty of other things in future chapters. Feedback would be appreciated!

“Morty! Come gimme a hand!” Rick yells, and it’s a welcome break from Morty’s afternoon of nothing. He really doesn’t have much else going on aside from going on crazy, hellish adventures with his grandpa. He’s loaded up with a pile of junk as soon as he enters the garage, watching rick tamper with his ship. 

“What’s all this?” He asks. 

“Just some shit. There we go. This baby’s gonna go a hell of a lot faster now. Should be good for our next mission.” Rick replies, closing the hood and wiping his hands on his lab coat. 

“Where should I-”

“Stick it in a box, I don’t care.”  
After Morty does as he’s told, he then has a gun thrusted into his hands. 

“We’re getting into an area loaded with gromflomites, so try not to piss yourself if we get surrounded.” 

“I've never- I-I won’t piss myself!” Morty replies indignantly. 

“If you say so.”  
With that, they climb into the ship and set off on another hell-trip. 

“I suspect you did something illegal?”

“No! But that’s about to change. We’re stealing some real important shit from real important people, Morty. Might even kill some of ‘em.” 

“O-oh jeez…” Will Morty ever get used to the idea of killing anything? Maybe, but… He kind of hopes not. That’d be like part of his humanity dying. It’s the one thing he would prefer to keep intact.  
“It’s basically like the Royal Family of the planet, every bit as useless and ornamental as the one back home. If there’s one thing I hate as much as the government, it’s rich people who’re rich for no reason and don’t do shit.” 

“Is that the only reason? They didn’t do some horrible thing. Jeez, Rick, you’re kind of a tool.”

“Oh, I'm a tool? Well ex-fucking-cuse me for disliking people who essentially get millions of dollars just for being related to some old lady who died years ago. Guess all the people who work so hard for a living and suffer in poverty don't matter to you, Morty.” 

“O-okay, okay! But that doesn’t mean we should think about killing them!”

“All I'm saying is that they might get caught in the crossfire.” 

“Mmm… I guess that’s okay.”

“Well, it’s not really up to you.”

“True…”

Things go silent from there, Rick going over the plan in his mind, and Morty just imagining what they could possibly steal from alien royalty. It's not long before they arrive at a strange lavish castle, going in through a window that was conveniently open. He follows Rick silently, surprised that security isn’t very tight. Along the way, what catches his eye but a particularly attractive alien girl? She’s definitely not a gromflomite. What’s she doing there?

“We’re not trying to get caught here, just so you know. Fighting gromflomites can be a real bitch.” Rick says, cutting into Morty’s thoughts. Evidently, the boy wasn’t paying much attention- at least, that’s what Rick gathers from his next outburst. 

“H-hey Rick, look!” Morty says in a raised whisper, pointing out that strange girl.

“Wow, Morty, a teenage girl. Amazing,” Rick says sarcastically. 

“Caaaaaaan we save her?” 

“Are you gonna try to get laid on every mission? Fine, you do that and I'll go after the important shit.”

“G-gee, thanks Rick! For the record, I w-wasn’t trying to get laid!” Morty then runs off to talk to her. He should probably be thinking more about this. Why would a vulnerable princess be left alone there and seem to be unphased by the sudden appearance of a stranger? None of the questions that should be on his mind are there. He’s practically a slave to his own dick at this point. Rick has long since walked off, no longer around to help the boy get his head on straight. 

“Who are you?” The girl asks, narrowing her eyes and scrutinizing Morty. 

“U-uh… My grandpa and I are here to steal stuff, and I wanted to help you guys get out so you don’t get caught in the crossfire between us and the guards. You live here, I'm guessing…?” 

“Oh, you’re with Rick? Perfect! Yeah, yeah. I live here. Look, I need a favor from you.” She has an urgency in her voice that Morty doesn’t quite seem to get.

“H-how did you know this...? A favor? Of course, anything!” 

“We’re having some stupid dinner with big important assholes. What I need you to do is pose as my date.”

“O-okay!” Morty says, turning red. 

“Great. You should be able to get a good shot from the chandelier, I can distract everyone long enough for you to climb up and take them out,” the girl explains, then proceeds to bring up some holograms. “Here’s who you’re looking for.”

“I-I… Wait, ‘shot’?” Morty feels like his head is spinning from the influx of information. 

“Yeah, don’t you have a gun?” This girl is losing more and more patience with him by the minute, and he’s starting to feel that. Fortunately, the realization is finally dawning on him. 

“Ohhh no, I'm not getting involved in a bloodbath, no siree. I've already had my fair share of those,” he says, stepping back. 

“Rick promised me he’d get rid of them in exchange for an easy way in. Are you telling me he isn’t holding up his end of the deal?”

“Wh-what? He didn’t tell me shit about this! Where the hell is he?! He just said we were stealing stuff, and that some people might get caught in the crossfire! Which I want to prevent, if possible!” Even as Morty yelled, the girl was notifying her guards and he was being dragged off. He was eventually joined by Rick, who looks almost worried for him. That expression is quickly replaced by anger. 

“Oh god, Morty, what did you do?!” He asked, though it was more of a rhetorical question. 

“I-I just wanted to not murder people for once, alright! Plus, you didn’t tell me shit!” Morty yelled back.

“Well maybe I expected you to think with your brain instead of your dick for once, but I guess it was my fault for asking too much of you! If you just came with me instead of hoping to get laid, we wouldn't be in this mess!”

“Fuck you, she said shit that would've helped in _your_ version of the mission!”

“And what was _your_ version, getting up her skirt?”

“N-no! It was doing this with as few casualties as possible!”

“Oh, suuuuuuuure-” the argument is cut short when the two are unceremoniously tossed into what is essentially a big metal box. The focus shifts from arguing to escape. They can yell at each other once they’re out. The box is then filled with some sort of gas- and a strong one at that. Rick barely has any time to think before he’s fighting off sleep. Morty gives in almost immediately, caught so off-guard. Rick follows suit eventually. 

Morty wakes up in a corridor he vaguely recognizes as the one he was just in before being dragged off. He doesn’t have very long to process this or wonder how he got there before Rick is dragging him along. 

“Come on Morty, hurry up!” The man urges. He’s not sure what the rush is. They weren’t in such a rush before, were they? It’s not long before they stop at their destination: a bedroom? Nothing in here looks all that valuable… the bedding and decorations look luxurious, sure, but that wouldn’t even be low-hanging fruit to Rick. Speaking of Rick, the man is looking at him with an unusual hunger in his eyes. It’s a little offputting- enough to have Morty backing up slowly. To make things worse, Rick approaches him just as slowly until the back of his legs run into the mattress. 

“R-rick?” He chokes out. His throat feels dry. He feels like a gazelle being hunted down, and it’s a little terrifying, yet… Something in him is enjoying this. Some part of his brain wants more, and it gets louder the more Rick looks at him like that. Soon, the man’s hands are on his body. Morty slaps at them, trying to crawl onto the bed because it’s the only direction he can really go, but Rick perseveres. 

“Come on, Morty. I know you want it,” Rick says gruffly. That little voice screams “I do!” so loud, it’s as though it’s audible. Almost like Rick could actually hear it, his lips curl into a smirk.

“We don’t have to follow any rules here, Morty. We’re alone here. We can do whatever we want.” Rick punctuates this by nipping at Morty’s skin, making the boy shudder underneath him. 

“O-okay, Rick,” Morty replies. He’ll give in to the voice. He’s ready to let Rick take him. Rick seems surprised that he gave in so easily; he’s surprised himself as well. The man continues gently biting and sucking at any spot he can reach, shifting Morty’s clothes. He’s littered with faint marks by the time Rick has moved on to pulling his pants off. He stays there for a while, resting his head on Morty’s thigh and looking up at him almost expectantly, as if he’s waiting to be told what to do. 

“G-go on,” Morty says. Rick does, after a while, biting on his inner thighs so hard that it makes him scream out. His eyes widen when he realizes where they are, Rick’s warning when they first arrived, and he clamps his mouth shut. 

“It’s okay, baby. I wanna hear you scream,” Rick purrs as he gently pries Morty’s hand away and holds it. Morty doesn’t stop any noises that slip past his lips after that- he couldn't for the life of him. Everything Rick does just pushes it out of him. He's left panting while the man leans back to admire his work. Morty looks down to see his thighs covered in so many red and purple marks, they almost take up the whole expanse of flesh. The thought that someone could end up seeing these marks, especially the ones on his upper body, is oddly enthralling. He sort of wishes he could show them off, let everyone know that Rick Sanchez left them there. 

Rick’s tongue is on his cock, finally, running along the length lazily. Morty swears he heard a chuckle out of him. He might even protest about how “it’s average, Rick!” but he’s far too busy whimpering and rolling his hips against Rick’s tongue, desperate for more friction. Unfortunately, it doesn’t stay there, but Morty feels a whole new sensation. Rick laps at his hole, causing the boy to arch his back a bit, mostly out of surprise. He’d never done anything like that, never even put his fingers there. He wasn’t expecting it to feel so… awesome. He barely has time to even get used to that before Rick is sliding one finger in, and then another. The sting makes him grit his teeth but he doesn’t want this to end. 

“You doing okay? This is gonna make it feel better, trust me,” Rick says softly, in a way so comforting that Morty has to wonder if this is really happening. He’s seeing white before he gets the chance to process that thought. What in the hell was that? It happens a few more times, Morty crying out Rick’s name. It’s insane. Indescribable. Morty notices the sting has gone away, and almost instantly hears the sound of Rick’s zipper. 

“You ready, Morty?

“Y-Yeah, please.” This is it. This is happening. Morty’s feeling an array of things as Rick pushes into him carefully, as though he’s afraid he’ll break. He really expected it to hurt more. Aside from that, he can’t believe this is his first time. And it’s with a guy- his grandpa. He’d never have guessed he would like this as much as he does. All his thoughts dissipate as Rick starts to thrust, gradually picking up speed. Morty clings to him, his hands scrabble to find purchase, managing to slip underneath Rick’s clothes and leave angry red scratches in their wake. He’s seeing white again, like the whole room is suddenly bathed in blinding light and god is this incredible. He has no idea exactly what he’s screaming anymore, and he doesn’t care. As Rick slows down, he’s vaguely aware of warm fluid all over him. Oh, right. Of course it’s gonna leave a mess. The man wipes him up with something, possibly his coat, and then scoops him up into his arms. He wouldn't have pegged Rick for a cuddler. Hm. 

Morty has a lot of shit to think about after that- or he would if he hadn’t just woken up. He wakes up groggy, Rick hovering over him, urging him to find a weak spot in the box. He feels like got hit by a car. At this point, he wishes that was more than just a feeling.


	2. Let's get this Shame Ball rolling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's lots of feelings and most of them are self-loathing

It doesn’t take very long for Rick to wake up, which bears the question: what the hell was the point. There must be effects that they can’t see or feel yet. Either way, they obviously need to get out. He shakes Morty awake, urging him to find any weak spots in the box. They will find a way out; this ain't Rick’s first rodeo. He’s been trapped in a surprising amount of boxes throughout his life. Morty wakes up groggily and reaches out toward him. 

“You’re a little off-mark there, Morty,” Rick says, feeling around the box himself. Morty continues trying to cling to him, trying to touch him, to the point where Rick has to pry him off. Even so, he keeps trying. And trying. And trying. It’s infuriating. 

“What the hell?! What are you doing, we need to get out!” 

“I mean… We’re alone here. I'm not ready to go,” Morty replies in a way that’s so unlike himself, Rick wouldn't have believed it was him. Maybe this was the intended effect? Some creepy Stockholm Syndrome-reminiscent will to stay trapped? But maybe not, if the way Morty keeps trying to feel him up or shove his hand down his pants is anything to go by. No, that makes him wish the gas was just melting their organs, or something to that effect. 

“Please, Rick. We can do it here, nobody can make us stop. You can stop fighting it. I've noticed the way you look at me,” Morty says in what sounds like a desperate attempt to sway him. It just seems… Off. Morty doesn’t actually feel that way, and Rick knows it. It makes the man feel better, in a sense, that it could never happen. Morty can’t get hurt. On the other hand, he wants it. He really does- but like everything that’s made him the asshole he is today, he avoids it. He knows it’s fucked up, that it could only be a possibility in dreams. It’s then that he realizes this could be a dream. It’s worth it to test that theory, at least. Anything to get away from having to acknowledge one of his demons. He does what he can to force himself awake, almost sure he was wrong until the very last moment. 

He finally awakes with guilt pooling in his stomach and takes a moment to swallow it down before waking Morty up, silently praying that it’s real this time. He can’t handle another dream like that. Thankfully, upon waking up and being instructed to find that weak spot, just as before, Morty complies quietly. Rick is surprised that he doesn’t seem to need further instruction, and even more surprised that he simply shoots at anything and everything on their way out despite his earlier objective to avoid it. The man almost wants to make some sort of sarcastic remark. He would if his brain weren't so stuck on that stupid dream. Why is this, of all the tragedies and utter shit he’s experienced, one of the things he has the most trouble ignoring? 

Morty just sort of goes along with his instincts, unable to think. Whatever just happened is too much to swallow right now. He’d never had dreams like that about his grandpa. That’s not to say that the pining is new, he’s been wanting Rick for a while now. He’s not sure which is worse: the fact that it was all a dream, the fact that he truly believed it was real the whole time, or the fact that he wished it was. He wishes for a lot of things right now. His head is spinning so wildly that all he can do is follow Rick and shoot back at whatever is after them, he can’t even be bothered to consider the immorality of that. Are morals even a thing anymore? He seriously wants to be in a relationship with his grandpa. 

When they get into the ship and start speeding off, the tension is nearly palpable. They each happen to wonder, briefly, what the other dreamed of. Morty comes to the conclusion that Rick didn’t even fall asleep. He certainly didn’t see him sleeping, and he has no way of telling how long he slept himself. Rick must’ve just spend that entire time trying to wake him up. That thought is at least better than even considering that Rick’s dream involved his grandson forcing himself onto him. Rick figures that Morty dreamed about him doing something horrible to him for things to be this awkward. 

“I don’t know what that was back there, but… Just so you know, I wouldn't do anything to hurt you directly,” Rick promises. He left some space there, because he’ll well aware of how ridiculously dangerous these missions are. Morty could get hurt at any time because of him, because he’d take him to the wrong place at the wrong time and the wrong thing could happen. Hopefully it’s enough for him to know that he’ll always be the one protecting him from as much as he can, be it alien guards or a traumatizing failed relationship. He can’t tell whether or not that helped any. The whole ride is completely silent from that point on, Morty not even giving him a sign that he heard him. They both tell themselves that getting rest will help, trying to believe that things will go back to normal the next morning. 

Morty walks right up to his room, peeling his clothes off in disgust. They’re sweaty, and his boxers are stained with- ugh. He doesn’t even want to think about it. He shoves them down at the very bottom of his hamper to save himself from any reminders, as though he could stow the very memory itself out of sight along with them. All he can do is change his clothes, lay in his bed, and stare up at the ceiling. Why does this have to bother him so much? It’d be easier for everyone if he could stop. Let it roll off his back, care about nothing- like Rick. He thinks he might be starting to get it. 

When Rick watches Morty walk off, still not a word uttered, he follows suit and goes into his own room. He’ll deal with it the way he deals with everything: several bottles of alcohol. It can’t erase his guilt, but it can at least dilute it to the point where he feels mostly numb. When he’s finally reached that nice level of warm nothingness, he allows Morty to take over his thoughts once again. His hand drifts to his thighs as he thinks about the dream for the millionth time, this time wondering how it would've gone if he gave Morty what he wanted. If he had let the boy touch him… Or playfully refused to. Would be have begged? He lingers on that thought while he fumbles with his zipper, shoving his pants down almost desperately. Morty would have been desperate. Rick imagines that the hand grasping his cock is Morty’s, just itching to get as much as he can. He strokes slowly to savor it, though he can already feel the climax building up. He imagines Morty marking him up like crazy, leaving strings of bruises and such for the world to see. They would know Morty was there, that he’s his. This is the thought that does it, that sends white spraying over his knuckles. He makes a half-assed, drunken attempt to clean himself up shortly before passing out. He can hate himself in the morning- and boy, will he. Oh, will he hate himself for this.


End file.
